


Dinner and Drinks

by inbox



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Awkward Dates, Community: falloutkinkmeme, Dating, Fallout Kink Meme, First Dates, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3652077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inbox/pseuds/inbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two fellas on a spectacularly bad first date.</p>
<p>Originally written for the Fallout Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner and Drinks

James 'Courier' McClaren prided himself on several things. He took pride in making it to a certain age with a good head of thick silver hair, kept long enough to hide both an old bullet crater above his left ear. He prided himself on being a crack shot with a pistol despite having only one good eye. He prided himself on the ability to be conversational and charming, able to carry a conversation through the prickliest of situations.   
  
And yet, tonight, ensconced in a too-small booth at the back of The Tops restaurant with Arcade Gannon across the table looking at him with a muted mix of amusement and expectation, he was failing miserably on that last point.   
  
He'd been hoping that a steak dinner and a few beers would loosen his tongue and make their long overdue reunion more, well, easy, but it sure as hell wasn't working. Gannon had done the lions share of the talking, detailing a surprisingly good stretch of luck that involved, amongst other things, a happy five years spent doing biomedical research with the Shi in San Francisco. He spoke at length about the papers he'd written, the lecture tour he'd participated in last year, and a hundred other small details of his working life. if he noticed Courier staring at him in silent rapt attention as he talked and gestured and let the dim restaurant lights highlight the flecks of silver gathering at his temples and the laughter lines at the corner of his eyes, well, Gannon was polite enough to not remark on it.   
  
Or maybe he hadn't noticed.   
  
Either way the Doc had run out of self-effacing stories ten minutes ago, and once the distraction of a medium-rare steak had reached the point of digestion, there was nothing left to hide the fact that Courier had asked Doc Gannon out to dinner and found himself completely, totally, desperately floundering for something to talk about.   
  
 _You've got more handsome_  was right off the conversation list. It might be true - more true than true, looking at the Doc with his golden hair clippered short and an unshaven five day growth on his jaw, somehow looking more dashing than dishevelled - but hell if it wouldn't be a conversation stopper.   
  
Goddamnit. It wasn't seemly for a grown man to act like a gecko had seized his tongue. It sure as shit wasn't helping that Gannon was smiling into his beer like he had a secret that he wasn't inclined to share.

"So," said Arcade, idly pushing around his discarded cutlery from one side of his plate to the other. "That's enough about me. What have you been doing? Adventuring? Breaking hearts? Inserting yourself into yet another political tar pit between entrenched corruption and barbaric slavers?"  
  
"You know." Courier opened his mouth to elaborate, then closed it again, struggling for the right words. "I've bin around," he finished lamely.  _Goddamnit_.   
  
Arcade let his fumbled moment pass without comment. "How long has it been? Twelve years? Don't tell me you've been in jail for the past decade."  
  
Courier gave him a look. "I ain't bin in jail. You think that small of me?"  
  
"Well, you're not exactly giving me much to work with here." Arcade leaned forward, pushing away his plate and propping his elbows on the faded red tabletop. "I'm going to guess… sheriff. You've been a town sheriff. I always knew you were the type to stride around in a ten gallon and a badge."  
  
"And nothing else. Free to the breeze." Courier accepted Arcade's derisive snort with good grace, figuring that it wasn't even worth the effort of doubling down in an attempt to highlight the fact that he was trying to be flirty. "You're right. Sorta. Worked as a marshal for a few. Real nice place up towards the border. Dixon. Good little militia town, real safe."  
  
"And you left why?"  
  
Courier shrugged. "Town went NCR once the cavalry arrived. Not that I blame 'em, but…" He shrugged again. "I wasn't of the inclination to stick around much long after they changed the flag."  
  
"Understandable." Arcade traced a fingertip through the ring of condensation left by his beer, making a spiderweb pattern before scrubbing it away with the heel of his hand. "So."  
  
"So."   
  
The silence stretched on and on, well past the point of acute discomfort.  _Goddamnit_.   
  
"Hey, listen. I appreciate the dinner," said Arcade eventually, with a tone to his voice that practically announced  _I am pitying you very hard right now_. "God knows no one else is stupid enough to put up with my company for an evening, let alone wine and dine me. But you don't have to, uh, stick around if you've got other plans."  
  
"What? No. No, hell no." Courier turned his beer bottle around his fingers, aware that he was well on the way to flushing bright crimson. Goddamnit. He was too old to pink up like a blushing schoolgirl. "It's been a while, Gannon." No, no, not Gannon. Too formal. "Arcade," he added, unnecessarily.   
  
Arcade just looked at him. "Twelve years."  
  
"No," he said again, absentmindedly tearing the paper label on his beer into tiny shreds. "I mean, havin' a dinner. With someone." He balled up the torn paper between his fingertips. "With, uh, you?"  
  
Arcade blinked. "I… see."

_Goddamnit._  
  
"Aww, Gannon, never mind. I'm… never mind. Damn it. I'm bein' a fool." Courier exhaled long and loud and slumped in his chair, staring up at the ceiling and wishing it would open up and whisk him away from this mush mouthed and tongue tied hell.   
  
Arcade reached over the table and patted his hand, ignoring the fact that his sleeve was dragging across a gravy-stained plate. "Let me clarify this for the sake of, uh, my understanding. Is this a date? This isn't just me talking about a lifetime of wrangling plant stamens while you politely fall asleep?"  
  
"No. Well, yeah, maybe your work stories are a bit on the dry side, but I ain't got no ulterior motives. Just a chance to catch up."   
  
"'No ulterior motives', my ass." Arcade shook his head and chuckled, "Were you always this bad a liar? I could've sworn you used to be a lot more gifted at conversation."  
  
"You takin' pleasure in making this worse?" Courier dipped his chin a little, enough to look at Arcade without actually looking at him. "Maybe? I heard you was back in town for a spell, figured I was back in town for a few weeks too. You know. See if you were, uh, inclined to pick up where things left off."  
  
"Good lord," said Arcade, more to himself than anything else. He gave Courier's hand a squeeze, then began the laborious process of shuffling out of his seat. He slid along the squeaky vinyl and cussed under his breath when he knocked his knee on the sharp metal lip of the table. When he finally got settled it was at Courier's side, close enough that his shoulder pressed warm and solid against the worn canvas of Courier's jacket.   
  
"This is the most ass backwards way anyone has ever tried to get into bed, you know," he added conversationally, and smiled at the waitress who chose that exact moment to clear their table with a clatter of cutlery.  
  
"'M only in Vegas for a couple of weeks," Courier blurted out, loud enough that Arcade instinctively leaned back and the waitress dropped a fork.  
  
A table of nearby diners stared at their little tableau with rapt interest, as if he and Arcade and the waitress were performing a piece of dinner theatre.   
  
 _Goddamnit._  
  
"So am I," said Arcade smoothly, dipping into his pocket for a couple of caps, pressing them into the waitresses hand as a silent apology for, well, everything. "I mean, you already know that. Did I mention that I'm so glad that the Followers are happy to drop my travel schedule to every grizzled dusty drifter?"  
  
"Hey now." Courier glanced at him sideways. "I dunked myself in a bath for this."  
  
"A grizzled but not dusty drifter," amended Arcade. "A surprisingly good looking drifter."   
  
"Hey now," said Courier again, more for something to say to fill the silence. "You ain't bad yourself."  
  
"Thank you." Arcade caught his hand again and gave it a squeeze. "How about we try this again, this time without the crossed communication and without me droning on and on about work. I'm sure there's a show about to start in the theatre - why don't you take me out for a drink?"  
  
"Yessir," said Courier, and squeezed his hand back. "Fresh start and your company, that sounds mighty appealing indeed."


End file.
